


Not Like The Others...

by Jay_Grace



Category: Puppet History (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Elmo Is Mean, Emotional Manipulation, I'm not sorry for this btw, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Profelmo, no relation to the profelmo fanart i did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Grace/pseuds/Jay_Grace
Summary: Wiggles Mcnasty just wanted to spend a relaxing day with his boyfriend. Wiggles Mcnasty doesn't always get what he wants.
Relationships: The Professor/Elmo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Not Like The Others...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry for writing this. also, I haven't written fiction in over a year so this is... kinda rough lol. idc tho, it serves it's purpose.

“You’re a rotten man, or thing, or whatever you are,” said Ryan. The Professor stood frozen for a moment, suspended by shock (and definitely not a human hand, that would be ridiculous). Rotten, the word ran circles through his puppet brain. It had been a long time since he had heard that word, a long time indeed…  


-><-

It was cloudy. There was a storm on the horizon, Wiggles McNasty could sense it, and yet a small ray of sunshine filtered down onto the not-yet-professor and his companion. Elmo shifted lazily in his seat, finishing off the bottle of Pompeiian wine they’d shared the night before.

“Wiggles,” Elmo started, shifting again; this time to face his blue lover, “tell me another story?” his glassy eyes shone in a way that made Wiggles McNasty want to hold him until they made purple, but there was time enough for that later. Now was story time.

Wiggles loved telling stories. It was his passion, his entire existence, even. But the stories he loved to tell were often brushed off by his fellow puppets. Not Elmo though, that’s what made him special. He wasn’t like the others.

“alright, how about I tell you about the French Revolution?”

“mm, sounds exciting, ‘let them eat cake’ right?” Elmo squeaked, settling further into his seat. This was going to be a long one, he could tell.

“well, yes, but also no-” and Wiggles was out of his seat, pacing across the Italian veranda where the two had been spending their morning. His fuzzy hands were flapping around excitedly as he launched into a rant about Marie Antionette, quickly splitting off into four separate rants about the circumstances surrounding her upbringing.

By the time he got around to the actual beheading part, the sun had sunk low in the sky, painting the pacing puppet in a flattering shade of violet.

“-and then, his de-bodied head blinked! Scaring the absolute shit out of the executioner-”

“Wiggles!” Elmo interrupted, “language, dear”

“I, right, I’m sorry- “

“it’s okay, here,” Elmo patted the space next to him, “come sit down, I’m getting tired”

Wiggles obeyed, lying next to his lover. “so, do you want me to finish the story or...?”

Elmo sighed.

“why don’t you tell me a different one? The French Revolution is so… icky”

“wh- icky? It’s history, of course it’s icky-”

“not all history is icky though, right?”

“I, I guess not,” Wiggles stuttered, shutting his eyes for a few seconds. He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, he reasoned, he’s not like the others, remember?

“why don’t you tell me a nice one, then?” Elmo prompted, laying his head on Wiggle’s fuzzy chest, “like what we tell the kids back home.”

Wiggles nodded; his mouth dry. He managed to stutter through an abridged report of the discovery of Niue, preening when Elmo laughed at the meaning behind the island’s name. They stayed out for hours after that, watching the storm roll in over Naples, only heading inside once Elmo began to feel pricks of rain on his downy fur.

“Wiggles, I think we should talk,” Elmo’s said, high pitched voice suddenly serious.

“oh? What about?” Wiggles sat down on the bed they had shared the night prior, sheets still tangled from post-wine activities.

Elmo took a deep breath, “I think you should move back home.” He said, sitting next to his lover. Wiggles felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“wh- why? I, I already explained when I left-”

Elmo waved his hand, “I know what you said, but that was years ago. Things are different now, everyone misses you, Wigs.”

Wiggles shook his head, “no, Elmo I-”

“Wiggles, listen. You know I love you; I always have. But I want to be able to see you,” he leaned forward, “I want to be able to be with you,” he winked.

“you’re seeing me now, Elmo”

“and how long will it be until I see you again? A few weeks? A month?” the flirty smirk was gone from Elmo’s face, replaced with a cold sort of anger, “I’m tired of having to jet-set around the world to meet you at whatever dumb landmark you’re obsessed with that week, I’m tired of having to chase you down every time I want to kiss you!”

“Elmo… I-”

Elmo took a steadying breath, pushing the angry flush from his face, “I think it’s time you end your little sabbatical. I’ve talked with the producers, and they’re willing to give you a spot on the show, a history program, just like you always wanted! Granted that you censor the few… less than family-friendly bits, of course”

Wiggles looked at his lover, trying to process what he was saying. On one hand, this was his dream. A television program all his own, an audience that he could educate on the ins and outs of history… it was everything he had ever hoped for. Except…

“censor? Elmo, I can’t censor history, that’s- that’s wrong!”

“come on, Wiggles. I don’t mean re-write it, just… twist it a little bit, like what VeggieTales does!”

“VeggieTales-” Wiggles scoffed, “no, I- I’m sorry, Elmo, I can’t do that. History shouldn’t be twisted,” he balled up his fists, “this is exactly why I left Sesame Street in the first place! I don’t fit in with those PBS bootlickers-”

“that’s enough, Wiggles,” Elmo said, staring at him. The stare he was giving Wiggles was something the latter had never seen before. Elmo looked… disappointed. “I thought you’d be happy about this; this was supposed to make us happy…don’t you want us to be happy?”

“aren’t you happy now?” Wiggles asked, voice desperate and pleading.  
Elmo sighed, looking down at his own clenched fists.

“I don’t think I ever was, Wiggles.” He said, standing up, “and I don’t think I ever could be, not with you being…” he wrinkled his nose, “you.”

Wiggles felt his fur stand on end. He stood up as well, facing his so-called lover.

“wh- ‘you being you’ who- what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you know exactly what I mean, Wiggles,” Elmo stood to his full height, towering over Wiggles, “you’re so- so rotten. You’re not like the rest of us, you’re incapable of toning things down, of thinking about the children-”

“fuck the children-!”

“that’s exactly what I mean! Gosh I can’t believe I ever thought I could fix you-” Elmo turned towards the door, reaching for his coat. Behind him, Wiggles felt like he was drowning.

“what do you mean, ‘fix me’?” Wiggles’ voice shook. He can’t mean- no, no! he’s, he wasn’t… he’s not like the others-

Elmo sighed, turning back to Wiggles for the final time.

“you were so repulsive, Wiggles, someone had to try to make you normal. I thought I could help, I thought I could save you,” Elmo shook his head, “but you’re a lost cause. Rotten to the core. I see that now...” he took a deep breath, giving Wiggles one more scornful gaze before turning around and walking out for the last time.

Wiggles collapsed to the ground, heartbroken. Shaky sobs wrenched through his fluffy throat; the tears absorbed by his fur.  


-><-

Wiggles threw himself into his studies, enrolling into an online university and quickly earning a masters in history. When the college invited him to teach at their new campus, he readily agreed. That’s where we find the professor now, in his office, dusting off a few items discovered at a recent archeological site.

“well would you look at that,” the Professor said, cradling an intricately carved lamp in his puppet paws, “wonder where you’re from,” he glanced the inventory list, “oooh, 14 BC? You’re an old gal, huh?” he chuckled, rubbing a downy thumb over one of the markings. “I wish I could’ve seen you being made,” he said, setting the lamp down gently, “I wish I could’ve seen all of you being made,” he gestured at the shipping crate, “I wish I could see all of history, whenever I wanted…” the Professor drifted off for a moment, before laughing again, “That would be the dream, huh?”

The Professor turned his attention elsewhere, carefully inspecting the remains of an old shoe, and just barely missing the twinkling dust that floated from the mouth of the lamp. Somewhere, a genie laughed, and a monkey’s paw curled.


End file.
